Late Ripeness

Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered

the clarity of early morning.

One after another my former lives were departing,
like ships, together with their sorrow.

And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,

ready now to be described better than they were before.

I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget - I kept saying - that we are all children of the King.

For where we come from there is no division

into Yes and No, into is, was, and will be.

We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.

Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago -
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror

of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef - they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.

I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,

whether they are aware of it or not.

- Czeslaw Milosz

Quando for escritor quero ser grande.

((vou correr, o dia está quase a ser umas nuvens frias que não nos deixam fugir para a varanda e logo já podes encostar à box com um cocktail fulminante que desagua num filme que ainda não vimos)

)

(o parêntesis é aquela cena cummingsiana)

(aos momentos de calma, porque os de paixão ardente já sei traduzir ideogramaticamente, hei-de contratar um calígrafo chinês muito, muito velho e carcomido para inventar caracteres onde nos enrolamos sem se perceber muito bem onde acabo eu e começas tu)

There comes a time in every man's life
when he thinks: I have never had a single

original thought in my life
including this one & therefore I shall
eliminate all ideas from my poems
which shall consist of cats, rice, rain
baseball cards, fire escapes, hanging plants
red brick houses where I shall give up booze

and organized religion even if it means
despair is a logical possibility that can't
be disproved I shall concentrate on the five
senses and what they half perceive and half
create, the green street signs with white

letters on them the body next to mine
asleep while I think these thoughts
that I want to eliminate like nostalgia
0 was there ever a man who felt as I do
like a pronoun out of step with all the other
floating signifiers no things but in words

an orange T-shirt a lime green awning

- David Lehman

Twelfth Night

His first infidelity was a mistake, but not as big
As her false pregnancy. Later, the boy found out

He was born three months earlier than the date
On his birth certificate, which had turned into
A marriage license in his hands. Had he been trapped
In a net, like a moth mistaken for a butterfly?
And why did she--what was in it for her?
It took him all this time to figure it out.
The barroom boast, "I never had to pay for it,"
Is bogus if marriage is a religious institution
On the operating model of a nineteenth-century factory.
On the other hand, women's lot was no worse then
Than it is now. The division of labor made sense
In theories developed by college boys in jeans
Who grasped the logic their fathers had used
To seduce women and deceive themselves.
The pattern repeats itself, the same events
In a different order obeying the conventions of
A popular genre. Winter on a desolate beach. Spring
While there's snow still on the balcony and,
In the window, a plane flies over the warehouse.

The panic is gone. But the pain remains. And the apple,
The knife, and the honey are months away.

- David Lehman

When she says Margarita she means Daiquiri.
When she says quixotic she means mercurial.
And when she says, "I'll never speak to you again,"
she means, "Put your arms around me from behind
as I stand disconsolate at the window."

He's supposed to know that.

When a man loves a woman he is in New York and she is in Virginia
or he is in Boston, writing, and she is in New York, reading,
or she is wearing a sweater and sunglasses in Balboa Park and he
   is raking leaves in Ithaca
or he is driving to East Hampton and she is standing disconsolate
at the window overlooking the bay
where a regatta of many-colored sails is going on
while he is stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway.

When a woman loves a man it is one-ten in the morning,
she is asleep he is watching the ball scores and eating pretzels
drinking lemonade
and two hours later he wakes up and staggers into bed
where she remains asleep and very warm.

When she says tomorrow she means in three or four weeks.
When she says, "We're talking about me now,"
he stops talking. Her best friend comes over and says,
"Did somebody die?"

When a woman loves a man, they have gone
to swim naked in the stream
on a glorious July day
with the sound of the waterfall like a chuckle
of water ruching over smooth rocks,
and there is nothing alien in the universe.

Ripe apples fall about them.
What else can they do but eat?

When he says, "Ours is a transitional era."
"That's very original of you," she replies,
dry as the Martini he is sipping.

They fight all the time
It's fun
What do I owe you?
Let's start with an apology
Ok, I'm sorry, you dickhead.
A sign is held up saying "Laughter."
It's a silent picture.
"I've been fucked without a kiss," she says,
"and you can quote me on that,"
which sounds great in an English accent.

One year they broke up seven times and threatened to do it
   another nine times.

When a woman loves a man, she wants him to meet her at the
   airport in a foreign country with a jeep.
When a man loves a woman he's there. He doesn't complain that
   she's two hours late
and there's nothing in the refrigerator.

When a woman loves a man, she wants to stay awake.
She's like a child crying
at nightfall because she didn't want the day to end.

When a man loves a woman, he watches her sleep, thinking:
as midnight to the moon is sleep to the beloved.
A thousand fireflies wink at him.
The frogs sound like the string section
of the orchestra warming up.
The stars dangle down like earrings the shape of grapes.

- David Lehman

dupliquei-me!

(will you teach a
wretch to live
straighter than a needle)

ask
   her
       ask
           when
               (ask and
               ask
               and ask
again and)ask a
brittle little
person fiddling
in
the
rain

(did you kiss
a girl with nipples
like pink thimbles)

ask
   him
       ask
           who
              (ask and
              ask
              and ask
ago and)ask a
simple
crazy
thing
singing
in the snow

- e.e. cummings

- e. e. cummings

A Large Number

Four billion people on this earth,
but my imagination is the way it's always been:
bad with large numbers.
It is still moved by particularity.
It flits about the darkness like a flashlight beam,
disclosing only random faces,
while the rest go blindly by,
unthought of, unpitied.
Not even a Dante could have stopped that.
So what do you do when you're not,
even with all the muses on your side?

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.
Yet am I fully alive, and is that enough?
It never has been, and even less so now.
I select by rejecting, for there's no other way,
but what I reject, is more numerous,
more dense, more intrusive than ever.
At the cost of untold losses—a poem, a sigh.
I reply with a whisper to a thunderous calling.
How much I am silent about I can't say.
A mouse at the foot of mother mountain.
Life lasts as long as a few lines of claws in the sand.

My dreams—even they are not as populous as they should be.
There is more solitude in them than crowds or clamor.
Sometimes someone long dead will drop by for a bit.
A single hand turns a knob.
Annexes of echo overgrow the empty house.
I run from the threshold down into the quiet
valley seemingly no one's—an anachronism by now.

Where does all this space still in me come from—
that I don't know.

- Wislawa Szymborska

(adoro as tuas meias adoro as coxas as curvas os lábios o calor que emanas a flor o suor as formas o sabor e todas as cores com que falas)

When man
enters woman,
like the surf biting the shore,
again and again,
and the woman opens her mouth with pleasure
and her teeth gleam
like the alphabet,
Logos appears milking a star,
and the man
inside of woman
ties a knot
so that they will
never again be separate
and the woman
climbs into a flower
and swallows its stem
and Logos appears
and unleashes their rivers.

This man,
this woman
with their double hunger,
have tried to reach through
the curtain of God
and briefly they have,
though God
in His perversity
unties the knot.


- Anne Sexton

When getting my nose in a book
Cured most things short of school,

It was worth ruining my eyes
To know I could still keep cool,
And deal out the old right hook
To dirty dogs twice my size.

Later, with inch-thick specs,
Evil was just my lark:
Me and my coat and fangs

Had ripping times in the dark.
The women I clubbed with sex!
I broke them up like meringues.

Don't read much now: the dude
Who lets the girl down before
The hero arrives, the chap
Who's yellow and keeps the store

Seem far too familiar. Get stewed:
Books are a load of crap.

- Philip Larkin

A verdade é que vamos envelhecer, decair e morrer imenso, muito mesmo, e até lá eu quero esfolar-me a crescer, arder, voar, calcorrear, tudo isso ao teu lado, com toda a fome e sede e desejo de espremer a vida sem pensar nas horas que passam.

Preciso de ti.

E preciso de ti bem, ao meu lado, comigo, quente, quente, a molhar os meus dedos e a minha boca com o teu amor, a acolher-me dentro de ti e a ir comigo pelo resto do tempo sem pensar, sem pensar.

Adoro-te :)

Walkers With The Dawn

Being walkers with the dawn and morning,
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness--
Being walkers with the sun and morning.

- Langston Hughes

Quero escrever-te muitas coisas e sei que isso vai causar-te um aperto no peito porque, não podendo lê-las com atenção, ficarás irritada. E para lê-las como talvez quisesses, não poderás dividir-te mais do que já estás durante o dia. E assim ficam muitas sensações por relatar, pensamentos e tropeções por partilhar, porque ao final da tarde já só vejo o teu rosto, já só me interessam os teus lábios e os beijos que deles saem, e porque a paz que extraímos dum abraço à volta dos livros (sejam livros os nossos filhos com páginas que nunca viramos) é dominante sobre as marcas que o mundo nos fez hoje.
Por isso fico entupido, por me afogar nas curvas das tuas nádegas, quando o perfume com que afirmas "existo e sou tua!" atropela as coisas todas, das quais primeiramente pensamos servirem para unir um homem e uma mulher, mas depois se deixam ir para que no dia, semana, mês seguinte sejam marcas d'água à medida que outras certezas lhes sobrevêm. E depois é beijarmo-nos e adormecer com a paixão às vezes aplacada, mas saber sempre o quanto queria ter-te escrito mais coisas, tê-las gravado com a boca no mesmo ar que respiras.

The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
Demeter in the grass,
I multiply,
renew and bless
Bacchus in the vine;
I hold the law,
I keep the mysteries true,
the first of these
to name the living, dead;
I am the wine and bread.

I keep the law,
I hold the mysteries true,
I am the vine,
the branches, you,
and you.

- H.D.

Once upon a time there was a number
Pure and round like the sun
But alone very much alone

It began to reckon with itself

It divided multiplied itself
It subtracted added itself
And remained always alone

It stopped reckoning with itself
And shut itself up in its round
And sunny purity

Outside were left the fiery
Traces of its reckoning

They began to chase each other through the dark
To divide when they should have multiplied themselves
To subtract when they should have added themselves

That's what happens in the dark

And there was no one to ask it
To stop the traces
And to rub them out.

- Vasko Popa